TO THE COTS WOLDS 6^

clergymen with booming voices and preposterous accents,
In my Cots wold hotel, I could not escape from the noises
made by one of these gentlemen, who was as ridiculous as
any music-hall parody of the type. "As a matter of feet/9
he would say, awe—er—talked of mainy, mainy things,"
And he himself talked of mainy, mainy things, all over the
hotel, and the rest of us had to listen whether we wanted
to or not. How is it that a Church that has such a legacy
of superb prose, out of which half our good literature has
come flowering, still encourages these comic but irritating
fellows to be its spokesmen and priests? What god is this
that booms at us so idiotically? Certainly not the one for
whom these Cotswold churches were raised and for whose
glory Old George the mason still builds a noble dry wall.